


The Vanity of Loving

by thusspakekate (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:51:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thusspakekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She may never have his love, but she’ll always have her dreams. Based on the prompt, "The worst way to love someone is to sit next to them, knowing they don’t love you back." Written for the 2013 Dysfuncentine Anti-Valentine's Day Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vanity of Loving

_“It almost feels like a joke to play out the part when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart.”_

 

Draco looked beautiful at night, all pale skin and silver hair, illuminated by moonlight and half-burned candles. Pansy sat next to him on the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drew in deep, placid breaths.

His expression was peaceful. The sneer he'd spent so many years perfecting was absent; the sharp lines of his face were made gentle by sleep. Scars riddled his thin chest, souvenirs from the many battles he'd lost. When Pansy traced those lines of dead tissue, she felt as though she were mapping new constellations with her fingertips, ones that she invented, that only she could see.

She exhaled, blowing the smoke from her Sobranie so that it curled around his sleeping form. She smiled as the memory of her very first cigarette returned to her, and she was suddenly back at Hogwarts, sitting by the lake with a happier, scarless Draco.

She had giggled when he blew the smoke from his nose in an imitation of a dragon. He had snickered in turn when she tried to copy him and was sent into a coughing fit. But then his face had softened and he’d slid his arm around her neck, giving her breath back to her with the air from his own lungs.

It had been more than ten years since that first cigarette, and she still hadn't been able to break the habit. Not that she'd ever really tried.

Pushing the errant memory from her mind, Pansy stubbed the cigarette out in the crystal ashtray on her bedside table. Thankful for the dying light of the candles, she slipped out of the bed and found her dressing gown in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She wasn't quite as limber as she used to be and her hips creaked as she padded quietly across the hardwood. She was always sore after one of Draco's visits.

Careful to not wake him, she snagged the half empty bottle of Ogden's Finest from the nightstand next to him and carried it with her to the window seat. She didn't bother with a glass, enjoying how common it felt to drink straight from the bottle.

Because despite all her pretenses, she knew that she was common.

She may have fine robes, expensive jewels, and all the other creature comforts of a lady, but the title she'd always hoped for belonged to another.

She may not be the Mistress of Malfoy Manor, but she was, at least, a Malfoy's mistress.

The frigid air bit her skin when she opened the window. Protected from the cold only by the thin silk of her dressing gown, she felt her nipples harden, still tender and raw from Draco's earlier attention. Rubbing them absently, she accio'd her cigarettes from the spot on the floor where she had dropped them.

Both the smoke and the drink burned her throat. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and looked down at the abandoned Muggle street below. There was a cat on the sidewalk grooming itself. It was a mangy thing. She couldn't help but wonder why it even bothered.

If she squinted her eyes during the dead of winter when all the trees were barren, she could see the top of St Paul's Cathedral from this window. Well, she could see the top of a cathedral and liked to think it was St Paul's. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure where St Paul's was, or which direction the window faced, but she could never bring herself to find out for sure.

There was a rustle of sheets behind her and then Draco's voice, thick and tired. “What time is it?” he asked.

Casting a Tempus charm, she said, “Half past two,” without turning around.

Draco swore, and then the lonely silence of the room was replaced by the sound of his scramble to dress. Pansy couldn't bear to watch him put his clothes back on, so she kept her eyes fixed on the cat in the street below.

“I can't believe I fell asleep,” Draco grumbled as he shoved his shirttails into his trousers. “I can't believe you didn't wake me.”

Another long drag of her cigarette, another slow exhale. “You looked tired,” she said. “You needed the rest.”

“Yes, well how am I supposed to explain coming home at this hour?” he demanded. “What do I tell Astoria? I swear, sometimes it’s like you want us to get caught.”

Pansy flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette out of the window. “You could try telling the truth, you know. For once in your life.”

The rustling of Draco's clothing being arranged ceased. Pansy turned her head enough to look at him. He looked almost as defeated as she felt.

“She's my wife. The truth would kill her.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. Astoria was stronger than he gave her credit for. If this miserable arrangement was going to kill anyone, it wasn't her.

“You don't even love her,” Pansy grumbled under her breath. She then added, louder, “Divorce has lost its taboo, you know, even amongst the old families.”

In the reflection of the windowpane, she watched him sit on the edge of the bed as he slipped on his socks and shoes. He looked comically disheveled, the buttons of his shirt in the wrong holes and his white-blond hair a frightening mess, sticking up in all directions and already beginning to thin around the temples.

“We've discussed this,” he said tiredly. “I took a vow, swore an oath. 'Til death do us part.”

Pansy snorted and brought the gold filter of her cigarette to her lips once more. “I forgot how honorable you are these days,” she said on the exhale. “I have trouble remembering how much you value the sanctity of your marriage bed, considering how much time you spend in mine.”

Draco made a frustrated noise. She knew she was pushing too hard, but she didn't particularly care in the moment; she always felt uncharitable when he was leaving.

“She's my wife,” he repeated. “And you're right, I don't love her. But it's not like...” 

He didn't finish his thought, but he didn't need to. She knew what he meant to say.

It's not like I love you either.

Pansy flicked the cigarette out of the window and watched as the smoking red embers fell to ground below.

The cat had disappeared. She hoped it would find warm shelter for the night.

“Tell her you were with me,” she said. Before Draco had the chance to protest, she added, “Tell her that Theo chucked me again, and that I Floo called you at work, drunk and inconsolable, begging you to come visit. She'll believe that; she knows what a mess I am.”

Unable to look at him any longer, Pansy closed her eyes and listened to his quiet approach. She shivered when he kissed her neck. 

“You're not a mess,” he whispered into her ear. “And even if you were, you'd be a beautiful one.”

She let her head fall back, exposing more of her throat to Draco's lips. Her chest ached with the fruitless desire to have him again, to have him completely.

Draco lowered himself to his knees and pulled at her legs until she was forced to turn towards him, her back pressed against the cold window and her legs hanging over the edge of the window seat. He kissed a soft line across her thighs.

“We'll go away this summer,” he whispered against her skin. “Just you and me. I'll tell Astoria I've got to attend a conference on the Continent, and then you and I will slip away. We'll rent a little villa in the south of France. For an entire week, Pans, just you and me.”

Pansy could imagine it: the beautiful countryside, the sandy beaches, a luxurious villa with a wide bed where they could fall asleep and wake up together. It would only be for a week, but it was more than she normally got.

“Sounds nice,” she said with a smile.

Draco's mouth was still working, moving upwards as he bit and licked the soft flesh of her thighs. She knew she had to stop him soon, or else he'd be there for another hour. If she got him back into her bed tonight, she might not be able to let him leave.

“Come on then,” she said, pushing him away gently with her foot. “Time to go home to the missus.”

He gave a petulant whine, as though she'd just taken away his favorite candy. Pansy smiled to herself, happy to believe that he might still think of her that way.

He followed her out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, where their empty wineglasses from earlier in the evening were lying forgotten on the coffee table. She buttoned his cloak for him and smoothed her hands across the fabric, wondering idly if Astoria got to do this every morning before sending him off to work.

“How are things with Theo, by the way?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“Well, he did chuck me again. That much was true.” She shrugged. “We'll see how long it sticks this time. I think he's getting tired of me turning down his proposals.”

“You should tell him yes,” Draco said, as his fingers curled around the ends of her hair. “You deserve to be happy.”

Pansy gave a wan smile and stepped out of his grasp. She pulled her robe tight around her middle with one hand and reached for the door with the other. “I know I do. That's why I keep refusing.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Draco looked as though he wanted to say something, but in the end his shoulders fell and he remained silent.

“Owl me?” she asked as she opened the door. 

Now that he was leaving, she wanted him gone. The goodbyes were always the hardest part. It was best to get them over with quickly, like ripping off a plaster.

Another lingering glance and then Draco nodded. “Sometime next week.”

In the open doorway, they shared the brief, chaste kiss of parting friends.

Pansy watched him disappear down the stairs at the far end of the hall, on his way home to the wife he didn't love but would never leave.

Back in her empty bedroom, Pansy picked up the bottle of firewhiskey and pulled out another cigarette. She settled back onto the window seat, knowing it would be hours still before she'd sleep.

She closed her eyes and remembered simpler times, when they were young and Draco was still hers. Her mind wandered away from the memories and began to dream of a happier future: where she didn't live in wait for Draco's owls and where he’d always stayed ‘til morning.


End file.
